[ and there's another step back here when jack moves closer, enough that he bumps into the wall but it's coupled with a contradictory thought when his eyes meet jack's face.

the thought being, of course, that jack's way prettier without the mask. his smile makes rhys feel for a moment the same sort of affection he felt when jack called him his special boy and smiled at him like it was them against the world, if just for a moment. he kind of wonders what happened there and the ache of buried down emotion hurts too much instead, so he just glares in response.

he spits out, a bit more vicious than he should -- ]

Why? Because of a bruise? Pandora's not the only thing that bruises, Jack.

[ which sounds weirdly ominous and he realizes that a second later before making a frustrated sound and pinching his nose.

(later, he's going to question why he had to say it like that because honestly, he was just talking about punching himself in the face. now it sounds all poetic and cryptic and he hates himself.) ]

I'm Rhys. Don't -- don't talk to me again.

[ and that is, naturally, when rhys turns and fucking bolts out of that kitchen before jack can stop him. who needs food!! not rhys. he doesn't need food nor does he need this fucking specter of jack's past haunting him right now. what the fuck even and where the hell is fiona? ]